


Feathered Dreams

by featheredstag



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:54:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1987110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featheredstag/pseuds/featheredstag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-Shot/Drabble. A dream stolen from the mind of our favorite scruffy empath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feathered Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> My first posted anything and I only did it because sku7314977 made me. Send all your flames in that direction. ;)

Dreams have a certain feeling to them. Like drops of cold water sliding down an overheated spine; surreal and shocking. It's not so much as realization of the dream, Will already knows he is dreaming but simply seems incapable of taking that lucid step of control. It's almost as if it's wrested from his fingers like a treat a child is not supposed to have before dinner. 

The winter woods around him are eerily still, the only movements is the drift of flecks of white across the black canvas. Offering muted whispers as they strike the covered earth. A shuddering breath escapes his lips, crystallizing in the cold air, though he doesn't feel the chill on his flesh. 

He can feel the rush of fog billowing behind him, hot and wet as it drifts across his person. Knowing what stands behind him, chuffing breaths of impatience to be recognized makes it no easier to acknowledge. Will's body trembles, the muscles flexing and relaxing with no command from him. Like a long dead nervous system suddenly touched by live wire. 

"Been a while..." Will is almost proud at how steady his voice sounds to him, though the imperious toss of the Stag's head as it moves to stand beside him dashes that pride across the stones. The beast knowing better. "Well, at least one of us knows what is going on." His tone snide and far more true to form as he begins to move forward on bare feet. Wearing nothing but a white t-shirt and his boxers, he walks alongside the Stag through the woods. 

Hours seem to drift by as surely as the snow drifts earthbound. Unfeeling of the cold and unquestioning the destination. Will simply reflects that he feels at peace walking with the Stag. 

He hears it then, soft and lilting through the black trunked trees like drifts of smoke. Plunking tones that come from one of those wind up music boxes that have long fallen out of favor of the populace as a whole. It would be soothing if not for the creeping tendrils of dread that climb and curl up his spine. He follows, drawn like a man to Siren song. 

Standing before a massive black tree whose branches twist and wind like antlers born of shadow. Will looks to the Stag beside him, the Stag that makes no move to approach as Will knows he must. Feet packing the snow beneath him as he steps forward. One step...two... 

Standing before the great thing before he sees the music box nestled in a burrow knot in the tree. It's an old thing, worn by time and tarnished brass. Cracking at the edges but able to make a sweetly terrifying sound. On it's lid, is a strange symbol, all sweeping lines and hushed edges. Unrecognizable in his dreaming mind. He reaches up to lift it to inspect only to find pale, spindly fingers clutch around it and jerk it from sight into the black depths of the tree's interior. 

Will shoots up with a gasp and a pained expression. Sheets and clothes soaked through with sweat that chills over his body. It leaves him with that sickly, feverish sensation that only night sweats seem to supply. Recognition of it having been a dream slowly drawing away the ghosts of imagery from his sight. Like spider webs cleared away with a straying hand. He could feel the twist in his lower stomach that accompanies restless sleep. 

'Such an old familiar friend,' Will thinks with a depreciating sigh at the sensation before he stands for a shower and to toss the ruined sheets to the wash. His phone already buzzing to life to alert him of the incoming call. His eyes close as he glimpses at the name popping up on the ID. Answering it even as he walks to the bathroom. 

"Even with the phone on vibrate you manage to make it sound angry, Jack. Where am I going today?"


End file.
